Welcome To The Media (Dylmas AU)

34. Teach Me to Love

Thomas's pov

And then there was a tear, a single tear that traced its way down my face, the only tangible thing I was able to focus on outside of my thoughts. I was gasping, choking on my own words, my own memories, but that single tear fill steadily--an escape from a warzone. I could still see him, feel him, imagine his heartbeat thumping just out of sync with mine.

I didn't know I was shaking until Dylan's hands clamped firmly around my own. He moved closer, chest pressed against my back, nose nestled in the crook of my neck, arms wrapped protectively around me as if he could shield me from myself. I relaxed but only just--because Dylan was wrapped around me, pure and beautiful and absolutely fucking lovely, and I was dirty--disgusting--falling apart---

"He raped you," Dylan's voice was not as steady as his arms around me. It cracked painfully--broken and sad and hurt and hateful--an angry resentment I couldn't recognize fluttering within the few short words. He whispered the sentence but it still felt too loud, like he was shouting it at the top of his lungs. The sentence felt dirty--like it shouldn't be uttered, like I shouldn't even acknowledge it.

"No--" I managed to shake my head. "He--I asked for it, Dylan, he--" but I couldn't continue because I was sobbing again and I suddenly felt like I needed to get away. I struggled in his hold, but instead of letting me go he pulled me closer, turning me slightly so that my head rested on his chest.

"He--I'll kill him, Thomas, I swear, I'll--" his voice broke at the end, promising things that shouldn't be promised and breaking with emotion he shouldn't be feeling. I could almost imagine his heart beating wildly in his chest, thumping with an earnest that shouldn't be directed for me.

I closed my eyes as tight as I could. Dimly, way off in another world, I could hear the bass from the party downstairs. Beating, thrumming, drumming in sync with my stuttering heart.

Dylan's hands were making soothing motions down my back, but I knew he was trembling too. When words failed him, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, then to the corner of my eye, then to the tear at the base of my cheek. He was fighting back tears. I could tell without even opening my eyes, because his voice was thick when he spoke and his breaths were short. I didn't want him to cry--not over me--but I felt as if I had let everything I had ever trusted go and now I was scrambling to pick up the pieces of my scattered mind. Dylan was the only static force I had left to rely on so my fingers tightened around the hem of his shirt, curling into him, him morphing around me, right there on the cold bathroom floor. I was disgusting and I hated myself and I didn't want to be touching Dylan but I was also scared and breaking and Dylan's touch was the only solace I craved.

"Can I ask--" Dylan's voice felt abrasive still, no matter how quiet he tried to be. "Did you ever tell Elijah? Not Mr. Burton, I mean--your friend?"

If possible I curled into myself even more. "No," I whispered after a brief pause.

Dylan's hands tightened around me, as if he could tell I wanted to say more but couldn't force the words out. Two seconds passed in the space of my labored breathing and then I pulled back, away from his touch. Without his comfort, I was able to continue.

"She's dead."

My voice was quietly empty. It made sense, because I was empty too.

I ignored Dylan's sharp intake of breath to say, "I left London--to shoot my first movie," it was harder to choke out the explanation now that I could feel Dylan's gaze on my face, but my voice still came out detached. "I left just a week--no, two weeks? After--after I let him--"

I swallowed roughly and wiped at the fresh tears in my eyes. "I avoided her. Completely. I didn't say goodbye. I just left. I avoided her calls. I didn't write her. I just--fucking--left."